<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>I Will Have to Ride a Horse by Varjo</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635230">I Will Have to Ride a Horse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varjo/pseuds/Varjo'>Varjo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale is Bad With Horses (Good Omens), Crowley can't deal with kindness, Crowley is Bad With Horses (Good Omens), Death Threats, Horseback Riding, Horses, Scene: Kingdom of Wessex 537 AD (Good Omens), Self-Indulgent, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Two Two-Shots, apprentice riders, do they count if they're toward a horse, even if it's from a horse, falling off horses, on my part</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:35:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635230</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varjo/pseuds/Varjo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two little stories about Aziraphale and a horse (specifically, the one we see in the background in the Wessex-scene) and Crowley and a horse (specifically, one that I made up).<br/>Whatever makes you believe I liked horses?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sir Aziraphale...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round was less disquieted than he had let on to King Arthur and his fellow knights as he left the castle and put on his metal gauntlets. Truly, he could not yet guess what to expect from the legendary Black Knight, but what was the worst that could happen to him? A few minor scrapes, maybe. The obligation to work a mind-healing or obliviating miracle on some innocent bystander. In the worst case, he would have to apply for a new body, and that would certainly be a mere formality given the successes and merits he had had to report these past years, not limited to, but including King Arthur. Gabriel was never satisfied, but at least his behaviour in the past years didn’t suggest that he thought unfavourably of the heavenly agent on Earth. This filled Sir Aziraphale with great pride and fresh self-confidence.</p><p>Of course, neither his king nor any of the other knights should know about this.</p><p> </p><p>The Black Knight was supposed to reside in a swamp or bog about a day’s walk from here, or at least he had mostly been seen disappearing there after his barbaric raids. It would not be a pleasant trip, locked in all that restraining metal, but Sir Aziraphale knew to take it in stride.</p><p>Therefore, he was a little thrown as his servant approached him from the side of the castle, a heavily armoured, panting horse at hand. The horse was muscular and tall, tremendously awe-inspiring, with mighty, round hooves, its withers’ height about equal to the servant’s total height, and if it raised its head as much as it possibly could, it certainly could comfortably look down on both of them, knight and servant. Very perturbing. </p><p>“Sir Aziraphale – my lord!” the servant called out to him since the knight had simply walked on, if anything had picked up speed, hoping that he was wrong, that the horse was meant for someone else, “Wait – kindly do wait for me! The king, praised be he, commands that you ride one of the most reliable steeds his stables can provide to your mission.” The horse, white fur peeking here and there from beneath its shiny silver armour, snorted as if in confirmation. “We call it Snow, and it…”</p><p>“Sorry, my boy,” Sir Aziraphale interrupted quickly, looking around uneasily, holding out both hands as if to push the horse away, “My most sincere gratitude for the… the effort and attention that my king bestows on me. Remarkable, yes, indescribable. But I, well, I would prefer to just walk, indeed…”</p><p> </p><p>The servant stared at him as if he had blasphemed. “But Sir!” he shouted, stopping with the animal so close to his master that it could lower its head and sniff Aziraphale’s armoured hand which he immediately pulled away in irritation, “What shall the Black Knight, our knavish, ay, devilish adversary, be thinking if you arrive on foot like an ordinary page? How can he ever show respect for you?”</p><p>It seemed this was an argument without sensible contradictions – at least the servant wasn’t waiting for them to be made. He let go of the reins and stood next to the saddle, holding the stirrup so that his master might mount up. To him, it was indisputable that his master would ride this Goliath of a horse.</p><p>To Aziraphale, on the other hand…</p><p> </p><p>Sir Aziraphale remained as if frozen next to the horse’s head. The animal hadn’t been fettered by the knight’s visible unwillingness to engage with it. The soft, dark grey horse muzzle which puffed out thick, warm breathing clouds was about at the same level as the armoured one’s neck guard, it sniffed and nudged, and though the knight wanted to shove it away, it wasn’t in his heart. Beneath the protective headgear the horse wore he could see big, round black eyes that seemed earnest and kind, and who was he to not reciprocate a kindness someone approached him with?</p><p>It would certainly not hurt to talk a bit.</p><p>“Hello,” he mumbled, lifting a hand to pat the horse’s head before remembering that it, as well as his hand, was encased in thick metal plates, and attempted a smile instead, “hello, old boy. I believe that we ought to, by the king’s noble word… spend the next half day together…” He swallowed and felt how his rising optimism got caught in his throat. He didn’t think he’d ever been on horseback, and then such a giant specimen…</p><p> </p><p>The servant stared at him as if he just had fallen from the clouds. “Don’t talk to it,” he said, most probably saying repentant prayers to himself for daring to address a superior like that, “just mount up, my Lord, and ride. Snow is a horse – a beast – it has no soul. It was made to carry the lords on its back – that is what the Creator made it to…”</p><p>The horse grumbled and shook its neck. Sir Aziraphale had cast a scolding look at the servant before he had thought any better of it, and the servant stepped back slightly, demurely, still holding the stirrup. He should not claim for himself to know anything about the Almighty’s will, purpose, plans and goals… if even Aziraphale as an angel incarnate didn’t dare attempt such a thing, a human should not make presumptions either.</p><p>Apart from that he could not deny that glancing into Snow’s expressive eye made it hard for him to believe that the horse should indeed not have a soul.</p><p> </p><p>Well, be that as it may. Hesitantly Sir Aziraphale walked along the horse’s side, utterly forgetting to hold the reins, but Snow stood like a statue regardless. Helplessly he looked up to the saddle’s seat – he had seen enough humans on horseback to know something, at least – but he was at a complete loss as to how he, in armour on top of everything, were supposed to climb to that height. Well, leaving out the possibility of a miracle, and that shouldn’t be the answer here.</p><p>Should he miracle himself a stool? He would probably have the one or the other thing to explain if he did that.</p><p>Inquiringly the knight looked around and was lucky: there was a stash of fresh lumber nearby. It would be wobbly, aye, but it was a workable solution. Decisively he approached the stash, turned around halfway there and had to see that both servant and horse looked at him bewilderedly. The horse wiggled its ears about and swished its tail.</p><p>“Now come!” he shouted.</p><p> </p><p>The servant obliged him hurriedly, grabbing the horse by its reins and pulling it after him. Snow followed in a slow gait, its head stretched forward and not making the impression of understanding the situation at all. Sir Aziraphale felt himself rue his harshness with groom and horse.</p><p>The knight’s plan, however, came to fruition. Painstakingly he instructed the servant to position the horse sidelong next to the stash of wood, clambered onto it and finally, after some less fortunate or elegant attempts, mostly due to the immobility and impracticability of the suit of armour, onto Snow’s broad back.</p><p> </p><p>Fine. Now, standing, this wasn’t all too bad. The seat was elevated, almost comfortable, though the saddle could definitely be a bit softer, and the rider had an advantageous view. The angel could not deny a certain nagging fear, no matter how much he would want to, but as long as Snow remained unmoving it was merely a slight queasiness. The knight took up the reins as if he feared they could spontaneously combust, arranged his position a final time and signalled his readiness to the servant.</p><p>Then, however, the horse started moving – sedate, gentle, flowing movements – and notwithstanding Sir Aziraphale’s at least mental preparation, he was completely thrown off-balance. His weight shifted uncontrollably forward and to the left – the impulse had come from back right – he had to suppress a miserable yelp and support himself on the horse’s neck and shoulder in order not to fall. He felt his fear swell; Sir Aziraphale only strenuously got a grip on himself and managed not to squeal. </p><p>Snow took note and stopped that very instant, sharply lifting his head and evading with his hindquarters in an attempt to regain balance. His ears wiggled again.</p><p>The servant took note and made as if to tug at the reins to pull the stubborn steed onwards, but the knight, having halfway composed himself, ordered him to stand down with a lifted hand.</p><p>He would re-establish order by himself… in a minute.</p><p> </p><p>Sir Aziraphale evoked the supernatural-angelic parts of his nature and tried to extend his senses into the warm, breathing mass of muscle beneath him.</p><p>If he concentrated – if he deeply engaged with the emotional life of the animal which could not be all the different to a human’s – the knight could feel confusion and zeal to serve, a little diminished by what had just happened. The animal’s mind was simple, dominated by grass and wheat, its herd and the work it had to do in exchange for being fed and kept, an assortment of physical signals it had learnt to obey under all circumstances: pressure onto its sides meant ‘walk, faster.’ Pressure onto one side would make it evade to the other side. Pressure onto the bit in its mouth would re-arrange its head and therefore its walking direction. Pronounced weight on its back, as well as pressure to both sides of the bit meant ‘slower’ or ‘go back.’ And that was only the general gist. There were more fine elements that were not readable for the knight, that Snow merely recognized when it heard or felt them.</p><p>Snow, Aziraphale learnt in these moments, was a faithful, daring, fearless horse that – no, <span class="u">who</span> wanted to serve and provide security, who took each human on his back as a precious burden, worthy of protection. There was no spark of malice or deceitfulness beneath this fur; Snow was docile, considerate, attentive, dependable, compliant.</p><p><i>I understand</i>, he tried to tell the animal as he uprighted himself above his spine and closed his eyes, breathing deep and thinking himself heavy and deep, heavy in the middle of the saddle.</p><p>This is the rider’s place.</p><p> </p><p>“My lord?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>I understand, and I will try to bother you less, old boy. Be tolerant of me – I do this for the first time. Will you forgive me?</i>
</p><p>The knight heard a snort, and that made him smile. <i>All fine, then.</i> Knight and horse had found an accord on this non-verbal, emotional level, and if the knight could now manage to get his limbs controlled…</p><p><i>Walk,</i> he ordered the horse on this level. Carefully… press with the calves…</p><p>Snow took a step, more cautious this time, and the knight concentrated on sitting heavily and centrally, but not stiffly.</p><p> </p><p>One step. He still was upright. The animal’s movement shook him from hip to neck. His legs were nervously tight around the horse’s ribs as if he wanted to hold tight with his knees. He felt that this irritated and hindered Snow, but for the moment, both had to live with it.</p><p>Second step. He could open his eyes.</p><p>Third step. The horse’s body stretched beneath him, and Aziraphale tentatively thought he sensed a pattern, a regularity in the lifting and sinking and rocking.</p><p>Fourth step. The swinging grew not only predictable, but almost delectable. Now just get both bodies in tune…</p><p>It wasn’t all that hard, after all.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale sensed how Snow’s fear of losing his rider slowly subsided and he walked freer. In the same breath, the knight relaxed his thighs, knees and calves, and Snow stretched his head and neck toward the ground, shaking both. His ears fluttered. Aziraphale smiled cagily. That was a good sign, wasn't it?</p><p>Only as they had travelled for about an hour did Aziraphale ask himself how his desperate tries to stay upright in the saddle of his peacefully ambling horse might look from outside.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ... and the Horse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This was an odd situation for Snow – commencing with that unusual human he had carried here, a human he had almost overlooked initially due to his bright suit of armour in front of the clouded sky. Even now that he watched the unusual human and another human in black armour quack in their usual way, again held by the groom and chewing on his bit, he couldn’t categorize him. </p><p>For the first, he didn’t smell like the other bipedal creatures Snow had met before. The usual sharpness of the human smell was missing. What he smelled like instead… well, Snow was uncertain; apart from the fact that it was so faint that he had hardly been able to discern it initially, it wasn’t a smell that he thought he knew; there was something cool and homely about it, however, something almost refreshing. A hint of… rain on lush grass, maybe? A fresh, lively creek? This way or any other, it was unusual.</p><p>He also looked strange, having fur where humans, these pitiable, scrawny, little two-legged creatures, got a bit broader beneath their head and dragging something like wings behind, but only one piece instead of two. Snow had never seen anything like that, but the feel of the stranger had told him there was nothing to fear.</p><p>He also acted differently: was more silent, more hesitant, moving slower than most humans. His voice was a little thin, soft and light, he stammered now and again.</p><p>His entire feel was different. Snow knew that the bipedal creatures caring for him thought he was rather stupid due to his quiet, unwavering endurance and patience, and to the slow pace in which he liked to take things, and tended to treat him a little coarsely, but he didn’t mind much. It wasn't as if they could hurt him a lot. He obeyed their orders and signals because this was what he had been taught to do, and because he wanted to spare everyone the pain of a fight. This one, however? He emitted a calm and kindness that heightened Snow’s eagerness to serve without making him feel uncomfortable.</p><p> </p><p>How disappointed had he been as the stranger had rejected him initially! The knight had answered the horse’s approach with lifted hands, and Snow recognized a barrier, a <i>‘here is no way for you’</i> if he saw it. Had his grumbling, sniffing and nuzzling, his offer for reciprocal get-to-know-you gnawing not shown eloquently enough how gentle and trustworthy he was? And what for had he been separated from his herd, saddled, bridled, armoured and brought here if not to do battle with this knight on his back?</p><p>He had bitten down onto his bit as the servant who’d lead him out had left him to deal with the knight by himself. How did one confer security to a hesitant human? Snow had never done that before – had never needed to. Nobody had ever dithered before him. Humans had <i>wanted</i> to sit on his back, due to his size and force and easy controllability. He hadn’t been able to think of something but to lower his head and show his relaxation by snorting.</p><p><i>Trust me</i>, he had attempted to implore the knight. <i>Rely on me. I am big and massive and powerful. I can protect you and carry you safely. Admittedly, I am not fast and dextrous, but I am unafraid. Will arrows rain down on us in battle? I will not waver. Will we be attacked by other knights on horseback? I will not shy away. Will it be loud and distracting and dangerous around us? I will never lose my nerve.</i></p><p>
  <i>I promise, by my honour: I am not a bad warhorse.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>In the end the stranger had clambered into the saddle, more clumsily and cumbersomely than the horse, out of experience, found necessary, but his swaying and unequally distributed weight had troubled Snow already on the first few steps. Not even in the most cautious walk he had managed more than four steps without the knight having to support himself on his neck, which was unspeakably irritating. Why did he act that way? Why did he not just sit calm and centred and upright like everyone else, why was he such a hindrance?</p><p><i>Be patient</i>, Snow had told himself, and upon their second start, things had looked better. If the horse moved slowly and regularly, and he tried doing just that, the rider was able to gradually come to terms with the motions.</p><p> </p><p>And now they were here – in thick fog, so thick that Snow could hardly spy the ground around his hooves. He stood in the muck, held by the servant, and stared into the dense fumes, trying to watch the unusual knight; he moved a little more aptly on the ground than up on his back, though not much as far as he could tell. How even could you move with any kind of security, possessing only two hooves! Snow imagined he'd have to fight for his balance all the time. </p><p>His ears, however, proved more useful to Snow than his eyes: of course he could not understand the humans’ quacking, but he could decode the tone of their voices, the diction and volume.</p><p>First hesitancy, searching notes. Strenuous kindness.</p><p>Then: surprise.</p><p>Then: mild annoyance.</p><p>In the end the unusual knight grew ever more excited, ay, almost furious; his body language as he stepped out of the vapours toward steed and servant was congruent with that. His gait was erratic and almost stompy, and his front hooves were cast purposelessly through the air. Snow lifted his head and moved his ears about, inquiring; what might have happened? Would they now run into battle, that indecipherable flurry of colours and noises, sweat and blood on his coat?</p><p> </p><p>As if naturally the knight now approached his steed – the servant rushed to get into mounting-up-help-position – and got into the saddle remarkably easily. Snow was relieved, shaking head and mane. Finally he knew his way again! Finally he was treated like he usually was.</p><p><i>Walk</i>, a command resounded in his head, and the pressure on his flanks transmitted the same order, while a pull in his mouth – a needlessly harsh pull, but he was used to that sort of thing – wanted him to turn to his left. Finally, he got orders he was able to work with! Finally, he could show what he really was made of. Snow complied without thinking for a second; in fact, the servant had to stumble after him.</p><p>And the pressure wouldn’t stop!</p><p><i>Wait a moment</i>, he thought desperately, opening his mouth a little to lessen the impact of the bit on his gums and tongue – <i>just one moment until I have righted my body, then I will obey, I am as swift as I can be while turning, please, please, give me two more steps!</i></p><p> </p><p>As soon as Snow’s long body was out of the turn he shifted, following the impulses from his back, into a fleet-footed, easy, long-legged trot, expected the relief that was awaited after his compliance, lifting of the weight on his back, decrease of pressure on flanks and belly, fading of the pain in his mouth.</p><p>The following happened fast. Too fast.</p><p>A high-pitched, panicked quacking came from the one on his back.</p><p>The bit tore into his tender mouth corner.</p><p>Snow whipped up his head, giving way to the impulse, and went from his tentative trot to a sudden halt. This necessitated a short rearing, not much, not in defiance, just a tiny rearing with his front legs to get them next to each other as fast as was ordered…</p><p> </p><p>And suddenly, there was nothing where just seconds ago several pounds of flesh, bone and metal had rested on his spine.</p><p>A smacking, a little spluttering, disgusting sound issued from his right side.</p><p> </p><p>That unusual knight lay there in the mud and stared up to him – Snow, blaring his nostrils, lowered his massive head to him, sniffed and wiggled his ears. He didn’t understand. What did the knight do down there? Was he not supposed to be…</p><p>The servant quacked and clamoured and ranted as he grasped Snow’s bridle and yanked him away from the knight who painstakingly struggled to his feet – his armour was now not all that bright anymore, it was stained with dark, dripping substances. Snow whinnied in pain and exasperation, pranced aside, tried to make sense of the goings-on and couldn’t. He searched the human’s eyes, these tiny, hardly even discernible eyes, but didn’t find them, had to watch instead how the strange knight retreated.</p><p>Snow stopped trying to understand what was happening.</p><p>The humans quacked. Their voices grew progressively higher and thinner. The unusual knight flailed, first stepping backwards, then turning around and storming away on foot. Snow could merely stand there, chew on his bit and think: he had done no wrong. He had obeyed each and every command as best as he could, and yet this human seemed so angry at him that he didn’t even want to come near him again.</p><p>Nothing of this made any sense.</p><p>Was there any way to understand these creatures...?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Anthony J. Crowley, Esq. ...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was hard to find something about this situation Crowley wouldn’t have hated.</p><p>He hated to be sent into a sleepy backwater town at the outskirts of what he’d have called civilization.</p><p>He hated to be sent by Beelzebub into a sleepy backwater town at the outskirts of what he’d have called civilization – especially because he knew what she did to deserters.</p><p>He hated having to rent a horse for the way.</p><p>He hated the idea of clambering onto the animal’s back and travelling with an unpredictable, devious nag between his knees, completely helpless against its whims. While he by occupation had nothing to say against unpredictable, devious creatures – at least, no boredom with those around – it was admittedly less amusing knowing that your body’s wellbeing depended on your ability to stay on one of those’s back.</p><p>He hated the look that the groom had shot him, murmuring he had just the thing for that customer – equally wily if he thought about it.</p><p>And, finally, he hated the look into the big, round and oh-so-harmless eyes of the horse the groom led to him by its halter. He hated each eager step the animal took, the click of its hooves, hated the nodding movements of its narrow, noble head and how it pushed that head toward Crowley, sniffing and nuzzling, curious or simply greedy – Crowley would be damned again if he knew.</p><p> </p><p>It was a rather petite, wiry small animal – had the groom who needed to know not assured Crowley that it was able to carry him plus saddle and baggage he wouldn’t have believed it. It was chestnut brown, resembling freshly polished copper, mane (falling left) and tail were a little lighter, and its hooves were small and hard and perfectly oval. The muzzle that it pushed against Crowley’s chest was oily black except for a slender white spot, and up on its forehead, there was another, longer white spot.</p><p>Crowley had seen that one on the pasture with some others and thought it had acted almost feral. Hopped, kicked, bit at other horses, raced side by side with them. It had looked utterly uncontrollable. But should he ask for a different one? His pride said no. And what was the worst that could happen? It was just a horse, someonebedamned. Just a blessed <i>horse</i>. What could happen to him, worse than a fall? He had in his existence experienced worse than perfidy on four hooves.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s a mare,” the groom explained, patting the horse beneath her mane so forcefully dust flew. “We call her Rouge,” a shameful butchery of the French word, “because her coat’s that shade of red, and rouge’s the French word for ‘red.’ Clever, innit?” Crowley forced himself to grin as he nodded half-heartedly; the groom hardly took notice. “Good horse. Enduring. Fast. A bit of a glutton and a little brazen, but a man like you can certainly rein her in.”  He laughed creakily. “If you’ve got a long ride ahead of you, I cannot give you a better…”</p><p>Crowley interrupted the groom before he could sing more hymns of praise on his Rouge and paid some coins extra so they would saddle and bridle the mare for him. He walked outside to wait and prepare mentally and physically.</p><p> </p><p>Rouge reappeared, led by the same groom, some minutes later, walking zealously and seemingly not hampered in the least by the bridle or the heavy packsaddle. Her face was still questioning and joyous, her eyes big, shiny and innocent, her head nodded excitedly in her movement, the ears twisted and turned, and again she reached out with muzzle and upper lip as Crowley had come within reach. He irritatedly brushed her aside – he couldn’t explain to himself why she was so affectionate. Most animals tended to rather treat him with distrust.</p><p>So they would have to start.</p><p>Crowley took the reins and thanked the groom absentmindedly. He waited until the man had disappeared before he led the saddled mare to a rock to help him mount up. Immediately as he sat in the saddle and shimmied his feet into the stirrups, he felt awkward and apprehensive. Crowley hated horseback riding. Apart from the obvious complaint of it hurting in delicate places, he had fallen much too frequently… and yet nobody seemed to care to invent something that would put a final stop to this Heaven-blessed riding situation. For the moment, however, it wasn’t to be avoided, and the demon knew the ground rules. So he cramped his fingers around the reins – which meant nothing at all since they hung limply – and pushed the mare’s flanks with his calves.</p><p>Rouge started walking instantly, fresh and fast, and stretched her head toward the ground.</p><p>Crowley allowed himself a breather. An agreeable start.</p><p> </p><p>Rouge’s motions resembled her body: small and angular and overzealous. Time after time Crowley had to prevent her from falling into a trot or gallop by pulling the reins to himself, hissing; if she walked in that tempo, he would have reached his destination before a coach moving mostly in trot could. Incessantly moving her ears, the mare looked around, checked left and right without slowing, sniffed there and plucked a tuft of grass or a mouthful of leaves here, while her rider sat statuesquely. </p><p>Crowley hardly allowed himself to breathe normally; he mostly told himself to move as little as possible. What could he know how the horse would take any motion? Crowley’s list of misunderstandings with horses was long, and he didn’t care for expanding it today.</p><p>Then it happened.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley and Rouge had hardly been travelling for three hours, straight northeast, as they entered a blooming green meadow and the mare decided now was mealtime. Crowley had just started to carefully contemplate the idea that everything could be well – that possibly, just possibly he wouldn’t have to worry much more, and they could finish their trip safely and soundly and he could return Rouge without any ill feelings, odd as it may sound – and then this had happened.</p><p>“Come on,” the demon murmured and tugged at the reins to lift Rouge’s head out of the grass. “Come on, my girl, we need to press on.”</p><p>No reaction.</p><p>“I promise once we are home you get as much oats as you can fit into that scrawny belly.”</p><p>Munch, munch.</p><p>“Now come!” A bit more force in that rein tug, <i>close your legs, heels into the belly</i>. Rouge trod a wobbly half circle with her hind legs and shook her head, but was not convinced to leave her meal. Crowley’s posture lost rigidness; he only managed to stay amount by closing his knees and clawing a hand into his mount's mane. The demon bared his teeth and gave a dismayed hiss. Riding was utter garbage!</p><p>No matter - <i>go on</i>, the demon told himself, straightening up and wiping some cool sweat from his brow, <i>you're not going to let yourself be bested by that... that donkey there, will you?</i></p><p>“You didn’t like that, huh, did you?” Slowly he sensed himself getting angry. Maybe he should consider selling Rouge to the next available butcher, as a punishment – though his vindictive strain almost immediately recoiled from the image of her blind dead eyes and blood-encrusted, open-hanging snout. “If you don’t walk on pretty soon – well, there’s more where that came from, I’ll tell you that much!”</p><p>The mare swished her tail and shook her head another time. But her teeth didn’t stop plucking and chewing grass.</p><p> </p><p>Searching for help the demon looked around – but there was nothing apart from meadow, sky and trees. Sure, whatever had he thought? He had to take care of this all by himself, as usual. But should he try it in the human or the demon way?</p><p>Disgruntled he shortened the reins – Rouge wouldn’t be moved to lift her head – and steeled himself for what was bound to happen. Usually he abstained from doing this for the uncertainty of what it might do in a horse brain, but what had to be just had to be, and he had heard there wasn’t anything worse in treating a horse than not showing it who was boss.</p><p>Latching on to saddle and reins, Crowley moved his legs some distance away to kick both of them severely into Rouge’s flanks.</p><p>The reaction was immediate and every bit as fervent as Crowley had anticipated. The little mare squeaked, somewhere between annoyed and startled, and made a jump forward, stretching her head between her legs and arching her back upwards. Crowley utterly lost his balance, the stirrups, his grip around the reins and his posture in the reassuring saddle; merely Rouge’s scrawny neck into which he clawed like a desperate non-swimmer in the ocean saved him from impact on the unforgiving ground.</p><p>Rouge, however, ran now. Unsteered, unchecked and in full gallop, her head high and flanks pulsing, she stormed along heedlessly. Her rider didn’t see where she was running, and for the moment he couldn’t find the mind to care; everything he cared for was that furry piece of flesh he clung to so he wouldn’t fall. At least the horse moved in predictable waves, up-down-forward, up-down-forward…</p><p> </p><p><i>Stop</i>, he thought with his teeth clenched while the horse’s body worked incessantly. <i>Stop, you monster, stand, halt now, right-now!</i></p><p>Due to some odd reason it worked.</p><p>Trembling and sweating, panting and with her head still up high, the mare halted.</p><p>Had the demon worked a miracle instinctively?</p><p> </p><p>Be that as it may; Crowley took his time to pull himself together, sit back up and order his hair before he addressed Rouge. “You hated that now, didn’t you?” he asked and despised himself a little for the thinness and nervousness in his voice, “I know you hated that. I did too, just so you know. So, what would you say we spare each other… that in the future, and you bring me to where I need to be and we… never meet again? Right?”</p><p>Rouge snorted. Her posture normalized as well, she lowered her head a bit, stretched her neck and relaxed her back.</p><p>“That a yes? You agreed?”</p><p>Rouge snorted quietly and chewed on the bit. Crowley had been told that was a good sign; he was still apprehensive, though, as he gave the walk-sign with his calves. Rouge respected it and went into an easier gait – it took a bit of time until she walked as happy-go-lucky as she had in the beginning, but since they now had cleared that one thing up, the demon felt marginally more secure.</p><p> </p><p>Rouge was once again unexplainably cheerful and affectionate as Crowley dismounted at their destination and turned her back in – his legs shivered and his underbelly pulsed dully, but still, he could not but caress Rouge’s muzzle as she offered it. <i>I’m sorry</i>, he thought before being able to stop himself – <i>next time we’re doing that differently. Better.</i></p><p>Next time? As if there’d be a next time…</p><p> </p><p>To put it short: There was a next time. Many next times. So many, in fact, that Crowley suspected they kept Rouge available especially for him. (Perhaps it had something to do with his expectations and how reality tended to form according to it. If he went to rent a horse and expected to be handed her, what should keep Rouge's schedule from reforming itself so exactly that would happen?) Crowley saw in time that it made sense to ride the same horse repeatedly, and before he could have told what happened, a kind of equitable understanding or equilibrium had developed between Rouge and him, something he had not thought possible before that ride.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. ... and another horse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Crowley arrived that one day at the usual horse-rental stable and slid off the back of the greyish-bay gelding they had given him that time – a veritable elephant who answered to Rain and had not even had half the fire and vigour of Rouge, Crowley had been thoroughly bored on the way – coincidence willed him to hear loud voices behind a shed. The demon knew he shouldn’t care – all he should do was return the horse and bring as much land as possible between him and this place – but he thought he had heard Rouge’s name, and that lured him in.</p><p>So he threw Rain’s reins at the closest stable boy and sneaked along the stable wall with all snaky agility he could muster; the voices grew louder, and the demon stopped as he could hear them clearly.</p><p> </p><p>“… a wonderful specimen, it is a pity…”</p><p>A groan. “’s just a horse. There’s more where that one came from. And this…”</p><p>“Ay, ay, I know. No need to rub it in my face.”</p><p>“Just sayin’. With that mule you cannot hope for anything anymore.”</p><p>Short silence. Was the coughing Crowley heard Rouge’s?</p><p>“Just saying… it’s quite some effort, getting her to the market, getting rid of her, buying a new…”</p><p>“Which is exactly why we should not shoot her on the spot. We’ll get at least the slaughter price.”</p><p> </p><p>Slaughter price?</p><p> </p><p>“No meat on that horse…”</p><p>“Leave that to the butcher and the sausage makers, they can use her just fine, and a few poor sods more have a fine Christmas feast. Now come, let’s bring that sad sack here away, hurts everybody looking at her and we have customers.”</p><p> </p><p>SLAUGHTER PRICE?</p><p>Crowley felt an uneasy prickling spread from his fingertips into his whole body. Now he had to know. Was this about… his Rouge?</p><p>With clenched teeth he ventured slightly further, quiet, pulling the cape close about himself, make no sound… and peered around the corner.</p><p>Indeed… two seasoned grooms stomped toward the stable and one lead behind him the animal Crowley had just called his Rouge. The chestnut mare appeared as friendly, lively and attentive as always, looked everywhere with her big, glinty eyes, snorted and nuzzled and grumbled quietly in her equine way, but her back seemed oddly depressed, sunken, and she limped miserably with both hind legs – it was almost a hop.</p><p> </p><p>“If we were completely fair we’d have to demand compensation from the client who did that,” said one of the men upon disappearing into the stable with Rouge. “I mean, Rouge is a great horse, but there's limits to how much even a strong horse can carry, goddammit.”</p><p>The other man grunted in exasperation. “Will you let go of that mule? Maybe once she brought us good money, yes, and was a good horse. A profitable... investment, so to speak. But not anymore. All she’s good for anymore is a filled plate or two. You will have to deal with reality.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, I know.” Weary, a little tired tone. “It’s just… I hate the waste.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley tended to agree. And he knew he had to act.</p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------------------------------------</p>
</div>Darkness had fallen.<p>Rouge’s legs hurt; having to stand all the time didn’t make that better. The mare would have loved to lie down, but on the one hand the rope linking her halter with a ring on the wall was too short, and on the other hand she wasn’t at all sure whether she would be able to get up again, not with how her legs hurt after having fallen down that one time. And then the hard floor, just with a few stalks of straw… the bipeds hadn’t even given her a bucket of water, as usual, but that certainly was an oversight. A stable boy would bring her some water at his next round.</p><p>The chestnut mare had been half asleep as she thought she sensed movement, more with her ears than her eyes; something rustled, something beat dully on the floor, and was that breathing? </p><p>Upon looking up and grumbling quietly, Rouge could see the other horses all dozing peacefully or eating – nobody but her seemed to notice the movements. Strange! And it seemed to get more prominent, too.</p><p> </p><p>As she recognized the smell, the movements and appearance of the human she had travelled with repeatedly these last years she almost let out an audible whinny, but the nervous sounds that two-legged creature uttered made her understand that she was to be quiet. Things were odd with this one; almost as if she could understand what he quacked without actually understanding it.</p><p>The intruder’s motions grew faster and more decisive as he had found her and entered her stall. One of the things these beings had instead of hooves slid along her neck, against the fur’s growth – Rouge twitched a bit, but let it happen – and searched for her halter and rope. All the while he never stopped whispering, and Rouge wondered what was happening. Usually none of them had to leave the stable in the dark of night, or just very seldom, when humans ran around and screamed and one bled or was lifeless. Was this such a case? Rouge didn’t think so; one single whispering pinkish, bipedal thing was hardly an emergency.</p><p> </p><p>Her rope was loose in a few grips, and the human curtly patted her nose – irritating as well – before leaving the stall past her. He held the rope so short she had to arch her neck along her shoulder before turning within the stall she was used to exiting by walking backward. Her legs still hurt, especially the hind legs, but she was well-trained and knew that pressure on her nape and the human walking in front of her meant she had to follow.</p><p>The other horses? Some of them had looked up in the meantime, but most immediately turned back to their hay racks when the human glanced at them. </p><p> </p><p>He first made her stand as they reached the path between the stalls, quacked something at her that she didn’t understand but sounded a bit like a plea, and finally approached her back past neck and shoulder.</p><p>And the pain subsided.</p><p>Rouge didn’t know how, but the pain that had pulsed from her back to her hind hooves since she had fallen under all that weight was suddenly relieved. How she suddenly desired to jump like a foal!</p><p>The calm only lasted a few moments – the human sped past her again, pulling at the rope with full force, and Rouge, surprised and nonplussed, went from standing straight into a trot in order to keep up with him. Only as they had left the stable and jogged over a meadow towards a forest the mare found attentiveness and calm enough to notice that her hooves had not made a sound on the hard stable floor. She walked – still – as if on clouds.</p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------------------------------------</p>
</div>“You did <b>WHAT?</b>”<p>“Shshshshshshsh, angel – this is none of the mortals’ business.” Uneasily, Crowley looked around over the swing of the copper-red horse back. To his relief, most passers-by exhibited no heightened interest in him nor the animal he led nor the blond man next to them who had made this misstep in volume.</p><p>“But Crowley, you cannot handle horses.” Why the Heaven did Aziraphale sound so unhappy?</p><p>Crowley pulled a face, absentmindedly ruffling the mare’s mane. “They would have slaughtered her.”</p><p> </p><p>“Even worse,” Aziraphale added, gesticulating toward Rouge who Crowley had renamed Aset, “Horses cannot handle you. For everything that's holy, dear boy, <i>animals</i> cannot handle you! And you cannot forget that it is not child’s play to keep a horse. Horses need… she needs a place to sleep and run, a stable and pasture, and occupation and food and attention and time and… your time! You have no idea about… how do you imagine…”</p><p>The demon knew all that; hearing it again out of his friend’s mouth made it no better. “No idea,” he confessed, listlessly twirling about the rope he led Aset by, “Bless it, Aziraphale, do not think I hadn’t asked myself repeatedly what I am even doing and why. That I wouldn’t feel self-conscious, standing here and leading a horse like a noblewoman her lapdog! But I, I couldn’t have let them. She’s not terminally ill! She can still walk and live and all that… just because some idiot found he needed to load pounds and pounds of baggage onto her, more'n she could sensibly carry… and they would have sold her to the butcher!”</p><p>The petite mare lifted her head, still chewing, as if to rub it against Crowley’s waistcoat; he shoved her away, but could not deny an unwillingly tender smile on his face. One did not travel for multiple miles over a span of years, thereby learning about the other’s character and tics and reconciling them with one’s own, without starting to value the other one at least a bit. At least for Crowley it was like that.</p><p> </p><p>“So you bought her instead,” Aziraphale breathed.</p><p>“Bought?” A smirk spread on the demon’s face. “No, oh no. In remembrance of what I am I did exactly the right, I mean the wrong, I mean the appropriate thing concerning Aset here and stole her. Kidnapped. Whatever. Allowing those meatheads to earn money off throwing Aset away like a chipped tool? No, no, not going to happen.”</p><p>Aziraphale struggled with a smile.</p><p>Crowley was silent, looking meaningfully at no-one.</p><p>Aset plucked grass and herbs.</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley. Crowley, dear, if you keep acting like this, how do you imagine I should stop noticing that you are, deep down, a really agreeable…”</p><p>“Oh, shut it, angel!”</p><p>“Is it my fault, then, that you keep proving this to me?”</p><p>“You could just ignore it…”</p><p>I could, I believe, the smile on Aziraphale’s lips said. But why would I?</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Aset,” he addressed the horse who hardly looked up from her meal, reaching out for the space between her ears as if uncertain whether to dare pat her there, “I am Aziraphale, another… friend of Crowley’s. So thrilled to meet you.”</p><p>Aset snorted and shook her mane. Her ears fluttered.</p><p>“Amazing.” Crowley had turned his eyes enervatedly to the sky. “Should I leave you alone so you can get better acquainted?”</p><p>“What are you thinking.” Aziraphale sounded chipper enough to give Crowley the desire to strangle him. “I would never come between the both of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Was there an answer to that? If yes, Crowley couldn’t think of it.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>